


burn my sins

by aijou (jadedgold)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, No Plot/Plotless, but i mean, is sad, this ship is so important, what am I even doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-12-27 16:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12084447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadedgold/pseuds/aijou
Summary: this was no longer what was once beautiful alchemy, it's just fire





	burn my sins

 

 

She believes these marks on her back have more evil than good left in its ink. Scriptures she's once thought to be enchanted, life-changing—she wasn't wrong though. It _was_ life changing, being the very thing that ended it. 

 

The change brought upon the lives of many was arrogated by her own mind — _this was no longer what was once beautiful alchemy, it's just fire_ — and it burnt, flame lambent as she, somewhere in her mind, slandered it with good reason.

 

"Burn it, colonel. please,"

 

This man, Roy, was a man she loved dearly. Superior or not, these feelings hold true. And truthfully, she chooses to stay his subordinate rooted firmly on the belief that _he couldn't live without her_. Quite humorously, this was true—for both of them, that is. 

 

And she thinks to the rainy days when their lives were on the line; where would he be without her. And where would she be without him?

 

"Risa,"

 

She liked hearing her name from his mouth. They've known each other for long, and this familiarity was very much welcome in her. 

 

"This, the Ishbalians— there will be more like them, your power is deadly, colonel-- no, Roy, please—" and her breath hitched. 

 

The Ishbalian war; started for the vilest of reasons, reasons unknown to everyone but a faction. A war that will be remembered for its bloodshed, for the ruthless massacre that started from when red lights clashed with red eyes—and from the viscous red liquid that once spilled, came forth more with opacity so great it blinded the Ishbalians and Amestrians alike. 

 

It was a war they thought had no end. 

 

"I, I understand."

 

And they weren't mistaken, though the reasons they will never know. 

 

Each of the soldiers, and with this only they understood each other, bore the same sin— now how could Roy say no? His guilt ate him up; Alchemy he swore to use for good, knowing fully well apologies can't bring the dead back to life. Yet he still chose to adhere to the military's orders.

 

Their eyes were both downcast, but Roy somehow catches the split second a sheen of tears glazes over her eyes.

 

He burnt them with the strongest flames, his sorrow refusing to see the corpses—he'd rather see ashes be blown by the wind and he almost wishes he'd choke when he breathes. 

 

Ultimately, they both wallow in pain. So much so that it makes one wonder; whose pain is greater? Those departed whose deaths are left unjustified, or those who see their eyes blink with tears, shaking in fear of the single flick of a finger to end their lives—who are more scarred the corpses unrecognizable, or the living with unrivaled guilt—whose souls are more perturbed when neither had reason nor choice. 

 

 

"This will hurt—“ _Though he'd rather have said "I'd hate to hurt you."_

 

His hand brushed golden strands away. Her back faced him but she turned her head to him when she couldn't think of an appropriate response. Her eyes held such sadness, Roy could only trace his hand on her back as she trembled. 

 

[Sometimes, when your feelings are so overstated, every understatement holds meaning deeper than any other word you might say.]

 

"If it didn't hurt as much, it wouldn't be enough—I know neither of our sins would go away but, if only in this way,"

 

 

No coherent predicate could make its way into her mind. She knows she could ask Doctor Marco to take this off one painless way or another but — 

 

Roy held her close, her naked back felt soft on his chest, he covers her eyes. 

 

As perceptive as she may be, Risa may or may not have realized he reciprocates her feelings. Though he's sure she knows he isn't as air headed as he lets himself on, he also acknowledges that she doesn’t have it in her to assume anyone’s feelings for her. Things like those she either fails to realize, or denies altogether.

 

“You’re warm,” he lets go of her.

 

“It’ll burn, Risa,” his hands trace _fyr, feuer_ , fire. 

 

“Burn me, Roy.” he didn’t need to be told another time. 

 

And she screamed, it burnt. She screamed, _it burns_ like the anger and ruthlessness of the Amestrians, raging as the seething loath of the Ishbalians. 

 

“ _burn me more_ ”

 

The thoughts that trailed in the colonels mind trailed from _snapping my fingers wouldn’t really fit the mood_ to _her soft skin, turning red, as red as the eyes of those whose blood was first spilled, skin untainted now permanently marked, red, burnt._

 

He kissed the nape of her neck and she cried. 

 

She abdicated herself, and he his feelings. _He did not want to hurt her, he did not want to burn her_ —all the more reason to find this sacrilegious to himself that it becomes a sacrifice for all. He _almost_ wants to take his hand away, to stop before it’s over; it was the reason they met and it was _almost_ sentimental to him.

 

_almost._

 

Her head awkwardly turned to face him. It must have been the smoke from her back turning her ditzy, or simply that she feels he won’t deny her of this. It must have been the latter, but she nonetheless kissed him. 

 

Her back was on fire, and her chest made haste to feel the same; his hands comparable, sparks on his fingers.

 

 _scream_.

 

 

 

_the room fills with steam and they both breathe in the air, scent of burnt skin and sins that won't rid of themselves._

 

But her back’s been ruined, all traces gone from her skin save for the scar so dark, so bright, so vivid, so dull — had she words, she had none; and they her thoughts were left run-on, just as all things fair and just have gone from their tan-skinned, red-eyed Ishbalians whose silver hair now falls off of their lifeless heads.

 

No matter how symbolic or sacrificial this may be, the multitude who’ve died will not, and cannot be brought back to life.

 

_And the truth laughs behind multiple gates; when the millions of lives were taken if only to save the small faction once living, the small faction of a man 7 times split, and how horribly amusing it all was, how horrible and wretched the humorous truth may be to one, none, and all._

 

But I suppose they both found this cathartic, finding comfort in the conviction that no others will be harmed, that this, _this_ sort of profanity won’t reach such stupid expanse when one was deadly enough. 

 

Once they step out this room, they'll act like this never happened. Once they step out of this room, they're back to lieutenant and subordinate. But before this all ends, before she loses the chance, there's something she absolutely _must_ say. 

 

"There was a book I read recently; Kenji Miyazawa's Stronger In The Rain."

 

She believes Roy doesn't need any further explanation, and she laughs.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> started off as very explicit smut but I decided to separate that instead
> 
> well I admit I have this issue; writing things with no apparent plot, mostly just the characters, or the narrator, or something, voicing out opinions and things haha but enjoy (?)
> 
> once I get the smut up, I do encourage you to read it because I may say smut but meaningfulness isn't mutually exclusive to explicitness, and sometimes they go hand in hand but hey, yay my ao3's back to life


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